


Be With Me, Forest Love

by capricopia3



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, At least to me, Bittersweet, Both of them are emotionally constipated, Epilogue, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Confessions, Mad Queen Dany, Marriage Proposal, Not Canon Compliant, POV chapters, Politics, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Reconciliation, Relationship Study, Romance, They love each other, and alter canon to make it happen, how it should have ended, inspired by My Featherbed song, let them love each other ffs, let's just pretend S8 went a lot differently, mention of the Hound, talking things out, they deserve each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 13:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capricopia3/pseuds/capricopia3
Summary: “M’lady,” Gendry greeted hesitantly.“M’lord,” Arya replied with a playful lilt.In which Arya doesn't end up alone and still manages to say "no featherbed for me"





	1. Arya

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this because apparently male writers cannot reconcile how a female character can be strong and also capable of feeling/expressing/deserving romantic love. Also because Arya's story deserves a better ending than "Hey, remember that offhand comment made seasons ago when I thought everyone I loved was dead or lost to me? Yeah, that's my dream now. Not finding and staying with my pack like the rest of the series has been setting up. I'm an independent woman who don't need nobody, and I'm better off alone!"

_That went better than expected_ , Arya thought as she filed out of the council meeting.

After the intensity that preceded and followed the Last War, she’d thought this summit would be accompanied by more fanfare or bloodshed, both of which she was happy to do without, but still ready to meet with the pointy end of her trusty Needle if necessary. Instead, the meeting concluded with everyone agreeing on the decisions of Aegon Targaryen, formerly and newly renamed Jon Snow, the Last King of Westeros.

Things had been tense since Queen Daenerys Targaryen had been slain by her nephew in what remained of the Red Keep. When Tyrion was arrested for treason, Jon had gone to discuss pardoning the retired Hand, but the queen only sought to punish Jon over his betrayal of her. She’d called her dragon to invoke the Queen’s Justice, uttering a terse “ _Dracarys_ ” and waiting to watch Jon burn. To his—and her—astonishment, Jon remained standing, naked as his name day yet unburnt and unharmed by the flames that engulfed him. It was at this point that Daenerys began rambling things that Jon wouldn’t remember completely, something about being “ _the last dragon_ ” and promising to “ _burn it all_.” With a heavy heart, Jon walked over to embrace her, holding her close one last time as he silenced her threats with a knife to the heart. By the time help arrived, Drogon had taken off with his mother’s corpse in tow, leaving Jon alone in the throne room surrounded by fire, ash, and melted iron. Seeing the state of his surroundings, it didn’t take much to convince the others of the truth.

Now weeks later, the most important lords and ladies of Westeros formed a council to decide what to do in the aftermath of the war. It was Samwell Tarly who suggested that the ruler be voted upon as they did in the Night’s Watch. Though many were hesitant to trust the common people with such an important political decision, especially so soon after a genocide-level tragedy, they agreed that those present should have an equal say for this selection, as baseborns and highborns were both represented in the current grouping.

Tyrion followed this up by nominating Jon to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Not only did he have the birthright, but he also had the mindset of a proper king. The way the youngest—and now last—Lannister put it, “ _The mark of a true ruler is his reluctance to rule_.” He said it with such melancholy in his eyes and determination in his voice that Arya wondered which dead friend had spoken that phrase to him, who was he honoring in that moment. After some resistance from Daenerys’s loyalists as to whether a Queenslayer was fit to rule, with Tyrion arguing self-defense and innocence proven through a “ _trial by fire_ ,” Sansa silenced them all with one of her infamous glares. She ended any further debate by reminding them of the destruction the Mad Queen wrought, and warned the Queen’s followers that they had escaped being branded war criminals only through leniency of the very man they opposed.

The vote was unanimous in Jon’s favor.

Of course his first ruling was also his last, as Jon decreed that Westeros be dissolved into its constituent realms, and that the rulers of each kingdom work together to maintain peace throughout the continent. Sansa was to rule the North, Tyrion the Westerlands, Gendry the Stormlands, Robin Arryn the Vale, Edmure Tully the Riverlands, Bronn the Reach (because the fucking Lannisters always pay their debts, even to sellswords apparently), and House Martell would retain Dorne. The lands that made up the Crownlands were to be divided and reabsorbed into the Riverlands and Stormlands, as they existed before Aegon’s Conquest. Jon further granted independence to the Iron Islands, and named Yara Greyjoy as their Queen.

As for Jon himself, he stated that he would go to live beyond what was left of the Wall and unite the tribes as Mance Rayder once accomplished. He argued that the Wildlings deserved to live how they wanted and that they were no different from those seated at this table, but needed guidance to prevent any wars from breaking out with the “southerners.” To prevent the Westerosi people from encroaching on their lands, Jon named the area north of the North the Freelands, and declared that it belonged only to those who would proudly call themselves Free Folk.

Bran nodded his assent of this choice before voicing his own desire to follow Jon north. “ _The first Brandon Stark built the Wall to weather the dark night_ ,” he had stated calmly. “ _Now the Long Night is over for good. It is my purpose to see my namesake’s legacy is fulfilled._ ”

Arya was confused over the meaning of his words, as she was whenever Bran spoke, but she had the distinct impression that he had no plans to return home. While Jon’s proclamation seemed to imply that he would visit on occasion, she couldn’t help but feel the same emptiness as when he left for Castle Black the first time. At least she knew where Sansa would be, back at the home she once dreamed of escaping for a sunny southern castle to take orders from her lord husband. Back then, Arya could only imagine such a pitiful fate for her prissy lady sister. Now, she couldn’t think of a more suitable role for Sansa than Queen in the North.

However, all these changes left Arya questioning her own place in the world. Deep down, she knew she did not belong back at Winterfell. The walls were too cold, the scent tainted with death and smoke, and the lack of familiar faces—while at the same time being haunted by the ghosts of dead loved ones wherever she looked—made her old home quite unappealing. Perhaps Jon would let her ride with him beyond the Wall, though that idea did not elicit the same joy it would have when she was a little girl seeking to follow her favorite brother to the end of the world. But those couldn’t be her only two options. Perhaps there was another. One with black hair and blue eyes, tall and strong and sweet all the same…

These thoughts of Gendry came unbidden to the forefront of her mind and she quickly tied to shake the burgeoning feeling of guilt over rejecting him. It’s not like she had been the first to do so in their relationship. “ _I can be your family_ ,” Arya had once said, not entirely realizing the extent of what she was offering up to him. Back then, she was blind to the idea that the tension in her chest and butterflies in her stomach when she looked at him meant anything more than friendship or admiration. Granted, she never got that feeling when looking at Hot Pie or Lommy, but Gendry was different. He didn’t talk down to her when they first met, nor did he patronize her when she admitted her highborn roots. He had always protected and supported and believed in her. Until he didn’t. She had offered him her home, her companionship, her entire heart, and he snubbed her for the bloody Brotherhood, who then turned cloak and sold him to a witch. Yet he’d somehow found his way back to her, and for that she could almost forgive him. Almost.

Despite having been with him as intimately as possible, the memories of his desertion still caused her grief. Sure, he loved her now, but back then he’d allowed social hierarchy to dictate the terms of their relationship. The tender moments they’d recently shared could not assuage the lingering sting of her first heartbreak at his hands. Even right after they’d made love for the first time, when Gendry covered their nakedness with his cloak then stroked her hair until falling asleep beside her, Arya remained awake contemplating just how much more he could break her heart if he did not live to see the morrow.

But dawn broke and they had both survived. Arya emerged as the titular savior of whatever songs the Northern bards would verse about that day, and Gendry had embraced her newfound heroism with complete adoration. In the hours afterward, he led her back to her quarters where he helped her wash away the grime of battle, dressed her wounds, and put her to bed with a gentle kiss to the temple.

Then the Dragon Queen legitimized him, and instead of rushing to her to resume the intimacies of that fateful night, the stupid bull proposed. Arya did not blame him for the proposal, at least not fully. Though she had always been adamant in her disinterest of being a lady, she knew that his intent was misspoken in his zeal and celebratory drunkenness. And even if he’d asked properly, she would have refused all the same.

Arya still had a list, a thirst for vengeance that superseded any selfish, saccharine desire she may harbor. So she joined the Hound on the Kingsroad until he implored her at the last moment to choose life. Of course the first image to pop into her head when thinking of life was her family. She pictured Jon and Sansa and Bran surrounding her, along with Gendry and, surprisingly, Sandor himself. Arya knew she could not stop the disgraced knight from completing his own list, but she could honor his memory by living to become more than just another version of him. As she fled through the burning streets of King’s Landing, her thoughts remained on her family encouraging her forward, beckoning her towards life. And when she succumbed to unconsciousness, her final thought was of Gendry holding her hand and whispering a heartfelt “Not today, m’lady.”

Despite Arya’s life-affirming revelation, there had been little time to dwell on how she would maintain this resolution after the war had ceased. Everyone was too busy cleaning up the destruction of King’s Landing or planning on how to make reparations and move forward in the aftermath of the Last War. But as Arya stepped out from the Dragonpit, she inhaled a deep breath, mindless of the ash and debris that accompanied it, and felt truly free for the first time in years.

Then she spotted him and choked once more.

Gendry had his back to her as he exited the summit, and Arya could only stand there and watch him retreat on the way to his new lordly holding. Perhaps it wasn’t fair of her to try and regain his affections. She meant what she’d said about any lady being lucky to marry him. Maybe he should find some willing, submissive wife to support him and birth him heirs. A small part of Arya felt happy at the thought of him experiencing a proper lord’s life. A larger, more jealous part wished to skewer that nameless woman for daring to consider herself worthy of Gendry Waters, the bastard smith with the courage and strength of a bull.

Regardless, he’d taken his second chance with her at Winterfell, so why shouldn’t she do the same? They’d already overcome so much to find each other again, Arya wasn’t going to let him slip from her grasp without fighting for him. She needed to give him the option, meet him halfway, and whatever happened next would be for him to decide.  

So, after bidding farewell to her northbound siblings—and making them promise that they would see each other again—Arya grabbed what little belongings she held dear, mounted her white horse, and started south to Storm’s End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is an assassin with a heart of gold, not a pirate or a colonizer. Also, if Dany is the Mad Queen, let her be the MAD QUEEN in her final moments, not a clingy ex-girlfriend.
> 
> Unimportant to this fic but still wanted to put my version of events out there: Jaime strangled Cersei in the Red Keep then cradled her body as he accepted death in the collapse (bc I care more about his seven seasons of development than D&D); the remaining Dothraki sailed back to Essos pretty much immediately after Dany’s death (seriously how many were even supposed to be left after the Winterfell battle anyway? How did they multiply? Did the survivors undergo mitosis? Are they like tribbles?); after the meeting, Grey Worm left with the Unsullied to protect Naath and ultimately became a pacifist (it’s ultimately what Missandei would have wanted for him).


	2. Gendry

The sun set on Gendry feeling out of place again. It had been nearly a fortnight since his arrival at Storm’s End and he still felt like a trespasser in his own castle. The beds were too soft, the food too rich, and the stronghold itself too storm-tossed and formidable to ever be comfortably thought of as home. Only Davos, who Gendry named as Hand, was pulling him through his reign with a shred of dignity.

Going to the forge became a necessity for him to stay sane. At first, the smiths had insisted this was no place for his lordliness to slum it after a hard day’s work of sitting on his ass while half-listening to a nonstop barrage of complaints and condescending advice from everyone in the realm with a working voice. At least now he knew how kings and lords grew fat, as they had no choice but to eat and drink the day away with their only physical activity being a flick of the wrist to sign decrees filled with fancy wordage that Gendry couldn’t understand. He held out for three days of that nonsense before taking a break to do something familiar, something he was good at. He smithed until even the most dedicated workers turned in, continuing well into the night before deeming himself exhausted enough to pass out without being pestered by anxieties of what tomorrow might bring. Turns out, the next day was just more of the same, and Gendry’s visits to the forge too became a daily occurrence.

So he was there again this night, having dismissed court early to hammer at steel in the privacy of the darkened smithy. The only downside of his busy work was that his mind had a tendency to wander, usually drifting to the Stark girl he’d lost due to his own idiocy.

Gendry wouldn’t say he’d always been in love with her. It was more of a gradual yet inevitable fall. When he first met her, Arya was still a child both in age and temperament. She was incredibly defiant and reckless for being just a wisp of a girl, though he realized that made her all the more brave. When she eventually revealed her true identity, he wanted to doubt her, but knew she would never lie to him. Still, her ladyship did not deter him from seeing her as the same Arry he’d come to know and care for. The one who wore sweat and dirt and blood without complaint because she’d rather that than fancy laces and silks.

Somewhere in their travels, the line between friendship and affection became blurred. As Gendry struggled to remember all the reasons he should fear that change, he stupidly allowed himself to be selfish with her. He talked with her as much as possible, reveled in the fleeting moments when she touched him, prided himself when he could get her to smile at his humor or gaze at him as though he was something worthy of admiration. Loving her was easy, and after a lifetime of hardships for merely existing, it was only natural that he fell into her orbit.

It wasn’t until Beric and Thoros offered him a place in their ranks that Gendry realized he never wanted to leave her—and simultaneously realized how dangerous this attachment was. He was a commoner meant only to exist at the periphery of his lady’s life, and when they reunited with her family, that would be all he was allowed. So he joined the Brotherhood, a solution easier decided than followed through on. The look on Arya’s face nearly changed his mind, but this choice was just as much for her as it was for him. After all, she was still very much a child, idealistic and naïve about how others would respond to their kinship. So he let her walk away, a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.

Before he could make amends, he was sold, and then she was dead. Then Davos recruited him to help her brother, different from the one she wanted him to serve before, but it would make her proud all the same. Gendry still refrained from talking about her so he bonded with Jon Snow over their dead fathers instead. Even after all these years, his affections for that intrepid girl haunted him, as did his failings of her.

When he finally laid eyes on her in Winterfell, alive and fully grown and self-assured, he knew he was fucked. When she offered herself to him, he knew he could never deny her. When the horn signaled the coming battle, he knew he had to survive to see her again. And when he was legitimized, he knew he finally had something to offer her—or at least that’s what he thought.

After Arya rejected him, he was upset for the rest of the night. When he awoke to a splitting headache, an empty wine flagon in hand, and bloodied knuckles from picking a fight with a brick wall, he knew he had only himself to blame. “ _Be the lady of Storm’s End_ ,” he scoffed at his past self. Why in the seven hells would he phrase it like that? Did he not know her at all? Of course she turned him down. If he could take it back, say something more meaningful and intimate, could he have convinced her to be with him?

Then again, maybe it wasn’t just his words that pushed her away. Perhaps it was him. Did she truly not want him the way he wanted her? The thought shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did. Arya had said their night together was just to see what it felt like. But she’d chosen him to show her! Him, when Podrick Payne and his legendary cock were in the same castle only a short walk away. Not that that truly meant anything. She didn’t trust that Podrick prick the same way she trusted him. And trust was not the same as love. Arya knew Gendry would be gentle and thorough with her, not to mention how little risk there was in bedding a no-name bastard. While smithing in King’s Landing, he’d heard many stories from other bastards who claimed to have bedded bored noblewomen. Apparently, those ladies were unconcerned with them afterwards, as any formal complaint from a lowborn lover would be met with a swift beheading for daring to touch a woman so high above his station. Perhaps a warm bed was all Arya wanted from him.

Gendry immediately stopped himself from delving any further into this thought. The Arya Stark he knew and loved was not as selfish as all that. She never cared that he was a bastard, in fact she might have liked him better for it. What she hated were the formalities that came with being a lady of one of the most powerful houses in Westeros.

Surely that was the crux of it. All she wanted was to be free of the limited prospects set by her Stark name, to be more than a subservient lady as tradition dictated. And gods was she more than that! Arya Stark was the fiercest warrior in Westeros, the Bringer of the Dawn, Azor Ahai reborn—not a brood mare meant to be hitched to some bastard lord’s wagon, only to be left in the stables to wither and die. He wished he could say he’d treat her better than that, but his time spent ruling Storm’s End proved that no matter what he planned for her, she would have been trapped here just the same as him.

Perhaps then it was better that she was free. At least one of them should be living the life they wanted. Still, Gendry had to hold back a laugh at the irony of maintaining his Baratheon father’s tradition of being rejected by a she-wolf too good for the likes of him.

“Staying close to the forge, I see.”

Gendry startled at the sudden intrusion as he fought the instinct to swing the half-finished sword in his hand. He knew that voice, had dreamed of it every night since their parting.

He slowly turned and confirmed that Arya fucking Stark was actually here. She wore her Northern garb, hair pulled back from her face in a full bun now that it was long enough, the dagger and Needle hung from her belt like extensions of her own body. Godsdammit if she wasn’t the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the fortune to witness.

“M’lady,” Gendry greeted hesitantly.

“M’lord,” Arya replied with a playful lilt.

He tried to think of anything else to say, but knew if he opened his mouth right now he’d only make a fool of himself saying something regretful. So instead he turned back to his work, hammering carelessly at the weapon just to have a reason not to look her in the eyes.

After a few moments of silence, Arya sauntered about the forge slowly and continued to tease, “Or would it be Your Grace now? Either way, the forge seems an unlikely place for someone of your standing. Is the castle not to your liking, Your Lord Grace?”

Gendry continued looking away from her, but chose to ask, “How did you manage to sneak in?”

Arya gave a disinterested sigh. “Have my ways.”

Now he made eye contact. “Please tell me you didn’t kill anyone.”

“Of course not,” she replied with an offended scowl.

“Had to ask.”

He turned to throw the ruined sword on a table for one of the other smiths to finish in the morning. When he turned back he found himself face to face with her, their bodies separated by only a few inches.

“Seven hells,” Gendry exclaimed as he quickly stepped a few paces back. “Should put a bell on you.”

Ignoring his jape, Arya bluntly stated, “You didn’t say goodbye. After the summit you just left.”

Gendry had at least enough sense to be ashamed of that. “I’m sorry, I just figured…it’s not like that was our last. I knew we’d see each other again at future council meetings, unless the North plans to secede entirely.”

“I’m not staying in the North.”

Now that got his attention. Gendry had a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but held back when he assessed her closely. Her voice was strained, posture tense, and it was the first time she refused to meet his eye. She was clearly defensive about leaving Winterfell permanently, and it would do him no good to question her on that decision.

“Where will you go?” he asked instead.

Arya took in a breath and visibly relaxed. “Not sure yet. Perhaps I’ll travel, within Westeros or west of it. I haven’t given it much thought.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

As Gendry tried to exit of the forge, Arya blocked his path and inquired, “What about you?”

Now it was his turn to get defensive. “What _about_ me?”

“How are you faring in Storm’s End?”

“You already asked me that.”

“You never gave an answer.”

He considered lying to her, showboating about being perfectly well-off even without her, but he knew she would see right through him. “I…it’s fine. Boring most days.”

“And the people?”

That was a more difficult subject to broach. As much as Gendry tried, the highborn people seemed to innately dislike him. He could tell by how they scoffed at seeing him covered in soot or with rust under his fingernails. Even at their most amicable, they were spewing with so many false niceties that he had to refrain from smacking the plastered smiles off their smug faces. And it didn’t help that the common people were no better, looking at him as if he were born with a silver spoon up his ass even though he’d started out lower than them. He could see there was little respect being directed his way from either end of the pecking order.

“Could be better,” Gendry finally admitted. “I mean, a bastard smith given lands and title by a dead tyrant is hard to accept as King, but Davos says they’ll come around eventually, the same as people did for him after Stannis knighted him.”

“That’s good to hear,” Arya replied. “So you’re happy, then?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he questioned, slightly miffed at her incessant prodding.

“That’s not an answer,” she countered.

“Because I don’t answer stupid questions.”

“It’s not a stupid question just because you don’t want to answer it. And I’ll just keep asking if you keep dodging it.”

“I’m not dodging.”

“You’re avoiding the question. That’s dodging.”

 “Did you really come all the way to Storm’s End just to interrogate me in my own castle?”

“We’re not in your castle, we’re in the forge.”

Their voices were raised at this point, right at the precipice of a full-blown argument. If he were smart, he’d leave now before this conversation escalated further. He knew she’d let him pass without struggle. But his temper forced him to press on. “For fuck’s sake, Arya! What do you want me to say?”

Arya paused for a moment before narrowing her gaze and imploring, “I want the truth.”

“Fine!” he snapped. “You want to know what it’s been like for me? I don’t know what I’m doing. And everyone can see it because everything I do now is being watched and judged by people who think of me as some lowborn usurper.”

Arya didn’t even flinch at his outburst. “So prove them wrong. You’re better for the Stormlands than anyone else.”

“No, I’m not. And don’t start trying to tell me otherwise. All I’ve ever been is a smith, and I enjoyed it, it was good work. But I don’t know how to be good at anything here.”

At this, Arya furrowed her brows in concern before schooling her expression into something more detached. “You’ll learn. You have Davos, and you’ve been part of the council meetings. It just takes time.”

“And how much _time_ did it take you to learn to be a _proper lady_?”

He knew it was a low blow, but he just wanted her to understand how in over his head he was. How the air felt thinned by the people surrounding him, looking over his shoulder to correct every choice he made or pressuring him to appease everyone in the kingdom at all times, until he eventually suffocated under their intense scrutiny.

Still, it was wrong to snap at her like that. He could see her retreat further into the icy exterior that she wore regularly since returning from Braavos as he tried to recant his words, “I didn’t mean to say that. I just…things aren’t what I expected.”

“This is what you wanted,” she replied coolly.

“I never wanted to be a lord.”

“You seemed to want it when you told me about it.”

“I didn’t want the damn castle, I just wanted you!”

Finally, Arya’s stoic expression broke—eyes wide, brows raised, jaw dropped—at his admission, and Gendry began to panic at his unintended emotional declaration. He tried to come up with something to salvage the situation, but his thought process had ground to a halt from the influx of stress.

After a long stilted pause, Arya spoke up. “You asked me to be a lady,” she explained. “I shouldn’t have to explain why that wasn’t the proper way to ask for my hand.”  

Gendry sighed deeply. “I never meant for it to happen like that,” he admitted. “I won’t lie, I’ve thought about marrying you for a long time. But back then, it was all a fantasy. Then I was given everything I needed to be worthy of you, and I fucked it up.”

“I know,” Arya stated.

“And I didn’t mean ‘lady’ in the traditional sense,” Gendry persisted, despite her affirmation. “I meant someone to help me run things. Even teach me to do things. We’d be equals, as Lord and Lady.”

Arya smiled. “Yes, I know.”

“I’d never expect you to sit back and do needlework while I handle everything myself. I mean, look at me, I can’t be trusted on my own. And I know that you didn’t really enjoy or listen to the lessons from your Septa, but I reckon we’d figure it out together. Davos would’ve been a big help. Well, he _has_ been a big help. I’d be lost without him. But I’d still prefer you over Davos. Not marriage wise, but as an advisor…That’s not to say I _would_ marry him, just that—”

“Gendry!” Arya interrupted his rambling. “I understand and I don’t blame you. You were excited and drunk and it came out wrong. There’s no need to explain any further.”

Gendry finally felt like he could take a breath. Although he should have been clearer in his intent, he also should have trusted she’d understand.

“Though I have some things to clarify, as well,” Arya confessed.

He nodded, and she continued, “It wasn’t just that you asked me to be a lady. Cersei was still on my list. I needed to finish it before even considering what came after. And now that I have to think about the after…” She trailed off, looking sheepishly at the ground.

“What is it?” he probed. “Arya, please tell me.”

“I don’t know what to do with peace,” she quietly admitted. “What if I’m not built for it? After everything I’ve done, perhaps all I’m meant to know is war and death.”

Gendry wanted so badly in this moment to hold her, to proclaim that out of everyone he knew, she was the most deserving of happiness. Instead, he advised, “Arya, peace can be whatever you want it to be. It doesn’t have to be something as simple as avoiding conflict. Just think about what makes you feel content and whole.”

She scrunched up her face in thought before answering, “Protecting people. Dealing out justice. Not just killing to serve Death or for vengeance, but helping those who need it.”

He couldn’t even be surprised that her idea of peace was bringing peace to others. “That’s good. So all you have to do is find the best place to do that.”

“What if I stayed?”

Gendry balked at her suggestion. “What do you mean?”

“I could stay here,” she offered, “I could be Queen of the Stormlands, make judgements on the guilty, protect the innocent. Besides, you seem to need all the help you can get.”

Though she smirked at her lighthearted comment, Gendry nearly fell over in disbelief. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked before realizing how dismissive that sounded. “I mean, why would you choose a path you despise when you could be anything you wanted?”

“But…I thought you wanted me,” Arya said, dejected at his apparent dismissal.

“I do, but not like this. I thought getting a name and title would make things easier, especially when it came to how I felt about you, but it’s just made things worse. I feel like I’m trapped behind walls and under expectations, and I can’t even breath or blink or wipe my ass without wondering if I’m doing it proper enough. I can’t ask you join me in all that.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered.”

“But why?”

She rolled her eyes and replied, “Because I love you, stupid!”

Gendry could swear his heart stopped in that moment. She loved him, just as he loved her. She wanted to give up her freedom to rule a kingdom with him despite everything he said to dissuade her. All because she loved him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Arya commenting, “Say it back if you want.”

He grinned widely and cupped her face in his hand, fingers grazing over the scar on her forehead as he did so. “Arya Stark, I love you too.”

She returned his smile and laughed. “You said it wouldn’t be worth anything without me. Well, I’m here now.”

“You’re sure, Arya?”

“Yes. I want you. Everything else we can deal with together.”

“But you deserve so much more than Storm’s End.”

Arya squared her shoulders and declared, “Wherever you are is where I belong.”

Gendry paused to reflect before responding, “And who says that has to be here?”

Arya’s eyes widened at the implication of his words. “Gendry, this is your home now. Storm’s End is yours by right. I can’t ask you to give that up.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” he repeated back to her. “This holdfast once belonged to the Baratheons, but I’m not a real stag, never was. Storm’s End isn’t my home, you are. And I don’t plan on leaving you ever again.”

He could see that his words were finally getting through to her, as her eyes lost that panicked gleam and she stepped closer to him seeking comfort.

“Are you certain?” Arya asked. “I don’t want you to give everything up just to regret it later.”

“I could never regret you,” he reassured. 

“So you’re willing to marry me even if it means leaving everything behind?”

“Without a doubt.” As he leaned over to embrace her, she took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Ask me again,” she demanded.

“What?”

Arya kicked him in the shin so he fell to one knee. “Ask me to marry you again. And do it right this time.”

Gendry chuckled, “If I were to do it right, I’d need Sansa’s blessing first.”

That earned him a smack to the shoulder. “Right for _us_! Just do it already.”

With one last laugh, Gendry took her hand and began the speech he’d been mentally practicing since her rejection. “Arya, I love you. You are the strongest, bravest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I know that you don't want to be a lady, but I’m not destined to be a lord. I can’t offer much, just my company when you’re lonely, my ear when you speak your mind, my strength when you involve yourself in a fight, which let’s be honest will probably happen sooner than later—ow, don’t hit me when I’m proposing! My point is that my heart is yours, has always and will always be yours. All I want is to be by your side, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll have me.”

When he finished, Arya wiped the tears from her eyes and kneeled to the ground in front of him, because of course she was going to answer his proposal with one of her own.

“Gendry,” she started, “growing up, I never understood all the stories about ladies being swept off their feet by lords and knights. At first, it was because I knew the ending those stories left out, that the lady traded her freedom for duty. After Father took me to King’s Landing, I learned that those stories lied about the lords being righteous, courageous, and kind. You may not be a prince or a lord, but you are everything those stories spoke of and more. And when I look at you, I see something not just worth fighting for, but worth living for. I have so much I want to share with you, but I’ll start with my shoulder to lean on, my sword at your back, and my name to call your own. I took the long road, but I’m ready to be your family, if you’ll have me.”

Neither of them would remember who leaned in first, but both knew that the searing kiss they shared, knelt on the dirty floor of the overheated forge, meant an unequivocal “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love the idea of Gendry as ruler of Storm's End with Arya as his unconventional lady, it isn't what either of them wants. Gendry has never liked lords or politics, he only wanted the title to be good enough for Arya. And Arya would never be happy holed up in a castle for the rest of her life, no matter how free she was inside it.
> 
> I felt this ending was an appropriate fit to their song "My Featherbed" which was featured in the iconic Gendrya scene at Acorn Hall in _A Storm of Swords_.


	3. Epilogue

_It is said that the young Bull and untamable Wolf were married quickly and quietly in a private ceremony that consisted of the pair trading vows under a weirwood heart tree without any witnesses to spoil the intimate occasion. The next morning, a note was found in the lord’s chambers, likely penned by his lady love, as the legitimized lord was considered illiterate save for signing his name to it. The letter stated that Lord Gendry Baratheon had forsaken his title, naming his loyal advisor Ser Davos Seaworth as successor to the Stormlands, and naming himself Stark after his lady wife._

_Though the pair have not been formally spotted since, sightings of a newly reformed Brotherhood Without Banners were reported mere weeks after their abscondment. It is said that the group is now lead by an enigmatic figure capable of changing their appearance at will, who some speculate to be the Stranger incarnate. However, no matter what face leads the brothers into battle, the same woman always leads them out after victory. She is described as short and slender with brown hair and grey eyes as sharp as the weapons she carries, sometimes seen astride a scarred wolf the size of a steed. At her side is a tall, muscular man with blue eyes and black hair, often wearing a bull's head helm and wielding a large war hammer in combat._

_Like the former Brotherhood, this group fights outside the laws of regional kings and queens to protect the smallfolk across Westeros regardless of affiliation, station, or creed. They never steal or ask anything in return for their services, but humbly accept what is offered to them. And though many throughout the continent remain wary of the mysterious outlaw assembly, it is known that the rulers of the North, the Stormlands, and even the Westerlands secretly welcome their presence. It is also rumored that since Bran the Razer—who vanished years past, leaving behind only a mutant white-eyed raven seated in his chair—demolished the remainder of the Wall using the Horn of Winter, members of the Brotherhood are the only southerners besides the Free King Jon Snow allowed to cross the border to and from the Freelands with impunity and without consequence._

_Whenever questioned about the legality of the renegade Brotherhood, Queen Sansa Stark of the North is quick to reassure that the group is not a threat to anyone, common or noble. “That’s not them,” she states with a fond smile, though she refuses to divulge any further information that might lead to their definitive identification or capture._

_In more recent years, the stories have changed to include that the leader rides with children in a sling under her armor until they are old enough to hold reigns and weapons on their own. First a girl, then two, then a boy, all black haired and grey eyed and with just as much ferocity as their parents before them._

_And although the fugitive warriors remain elusive, it is said that if you listen closely in the woods, you may hear the lovers serenading one another in gentle tones with lyrics of featherbeds and forest love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Davos deserves his own kingdom after putting up with all of Stannis, Jon, and Gendry’s shit over the years. 
> 
> Also, the line about the Gendrya babies being carried in a sling under Arya’s armor is borrowed from Maxine Hong Kingston’s retelling of Fa Mu Lan in the second chapter of her memoir “The Woman Warrior.”

**Author's Note:**

> IMHO, GOT has joined Dexter, Lost, The X-Files, VLD, and HIMYM in the pantheon of terrible series finales. Just wanted to marginally fix it, especially for my favorite character, who deserved so much more than that formulaic lone wolf bc “strong female character” ending the canon gave her. I know a lot of people liked Arya’s ending, but winding up alone a world away from everyone she loves is such a sucky conclusion for a character that fought like hell to get home and reconnect with her family. At least Gendry is possibly stowed away on board her ship.


End file.
